Revenge of the International Wingman
by 96 Hubbles
Summary: Morgan gets a bit of comeuppance for the events in "Rabid".


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_Disclaimer: Short and sweet: Not mine._

**Revenge of the International Wingman**

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It was snowing out and the team had just finished a long case in Alaska. Garcia had accompanied them and was wearily trudging her way up the steps to the jet for the trip home when behind her, Morgan, grouchy because he'd forgotten a hat and his head was getting wet, foolishly asked, "You want to try running up those stairs, Baby Girl? I know you can do it."

Garcia whipped round. "Oooh, don't even get me started, Derek Morgan! When I'm done with your credit rating, you won't even be able to take out a loan for a bag of chips!"

"What's going on?" J.J. asked as the team all finally boarded, dropped their assorted coats, mitts and hats, and made their way over to the seats. "What did Morgan do?"

Morgan was about to explain when Garcia gave him a sharp elbow to the rib cage. "He knows what he did!" she said, and her look was quite clear: _talk about this and you__'__re dead! _Morgan, realizing he might have struck a slightly deeper nerve than usual, wised up and refrained from elaborating. "Anyway," Garcia said, "I am primed for revenge - like sweet revving Lamborgini motor primed - and Reid is going to help me."

Reid, who had been the first to board and was already coming back from the coffee station with his usual cup of caffeine-flavoured sugar, surprised them all by saying, "Actually, Garcia, I've already had my revenge."

"What?" Garcia asked.

Morgan was smug. "Couldn't have been that great of a revenge, Kid, if I didn't even notice it." J.J. snorted with scepticism as well at her place by the window.

"Oh, is that what you were doing at the embassy party last week?" Blake asked.

Morgan chuckled. "What did you do at the embassy, Pretty Boy? Wait…" A horrible thought occurred to him. "Wait! Wait, you were translating for me!"

Reid winced, then grinned. "It might be more accurate to say I was translating for _me_."

"But Kid, I made you my 'international wingman'! You should have been honoured."

Reid smirked as he took a sip of coffee. "Yeah, that probably wasn't a good idea on your part."

" 'International wingman'?" Rossi scoffed. "That sounds like something right out of the nineteen-seventies."

"So what did you say, Reid?" J.J. asked.

"Oh, just tame stuff at first. For instance, when someone asked Morgan what his favourite sport was and he'd say hockey or football, I'd tell people he said competitive kite flying or clogging or even ice dancing, you know, because the feeling of those gauzy frills were so soft against his skin."

The entire team except for Morgan started laughing; even Hotch was shaking his shoulders a bit suspiciously.

"But then as the night went on," Reid continued, "and Morgan wasn't getting the responses he expected, he blamed my translating. He started forcing drinks on me so I'd 'loosen up' and 'get the nuances better.' "

"Well, he certainly got his wish there," Blake put in.

"What? What? What did Reid say Morgan said?" Garcia begged.

Blake thought back. "For awhile, he seemed to be straight-up quoting Monty Python. By the way," she said, turning to Reid, "I am extremely impressed you know how to say 'hover-craft' in so many different languages."

"I could say the same thing to you, since you obviously recognized when I did. And you know Python?"

"Not a lot," Blake explained, "But every good linguist knows the 'Dirty Hungarian Phrase Book sketch.' " She let out a deep laugh, "I have to admit, I nearly snorted my martini olive through my nose when you had Morgan exclaiming to the Austrian ambassador's wife that his _'nipples were exploding with delight!'_ "

"I said WHAT!" Morgan demanded.

"Let's see, then Reid had Morgan tell her husband that _'he had beautiful thighs'_ and to _'drop his panties'_ because he could _'not wait until lunchtime.'_ " Blake went on, ignoring Morgan, and a hysterically giggling J.J. slapped Reid on the arm.

Blake wiped a tear from her eye. "But the absolute best was when he had Derek proposition the German attache with _'Do you want to come back to my place, bouncy, bouncy? I am no longer infected!' "_

"You told people _I was infected?__" _Morgan shouted, while a just-barely-strangled screech of joy erupted from Garcia.

Reid waved a finger. "Now, now, let's be fair. I did make a point of stressing that you were _no longer _infected. It's different."

Garcia was nearly choking by this point, she was so breathless with laughter. "Oh… oh my God, then what happened?"

"More and more drinks simply made me more and more creative," Reid said with a not-quite-innocent grin.

"What did you say?" Morgan asked dangerously.

"I don't want to go into specifics, but I don't think you should count on having sex in South Korea anytime soon. By now, there's likely a large contingent of people there under the impression that you suffer from any number of vile sexual maladies and/or disturbing fetishes."

"Reid…" Morgan threatened.

"Finland and Denmark might be out too," Reid added, not bothered at all by the optical daggers being thrown his way. "As well as Switzerland and Italy. France, though - you might have a shot in France. That Jean-Marie woman from Marseille was very blasé; she didn't even blink when you introduced yourself by saying you had a star shaped penis."

The team exploded at that revelation. J. J. spit out her water and Rossi sprayed bits of muffin all over himself while Hotch had to wipe tears away from his eyes. "Boy Wonder, YOU ARE MY NEW HERO!" Garcia proclaimed.

Hotch, having a hard time speaking, asked, "Weren't you afraid your little game was going to backfire, Reid? Who knows what complaints might have been made about Morgan?"

"No, it's all right," Reid was quick to say. "I made sure to tell everyone Morgan had recently suffered a serious brain injury and that he was still readjusting. Even when they didn't ask."

Then he leaned over towards Morgan. "Feeling that revenge now, Morgan?"

Morgan glowered. "Kid, when we get off this plane…"

"Oh, no, you don't!" Garcia told him, slapping his wrist. "It was tit for tat. You totally asked for it after what you did."

"I wouldn't argue with Mama Bear, Kid," Rossi told Morgan.

Reid sat back smugly. "And it might be wise to remember what I told you about waging a practical joke war against an MIT graduate…"

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_Thank you for sharing in this moment of catharsis for me. I hope you enjoyed it._

_Oh, and all quotes from the "Dirty Hungarian Phrase Book" sketch belong to Monty Python's Flying Circus. If you've never seen the sketch, it's on Youtube and I highly recommend it._


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